Taken from Chapter 2 of A Study of Greenskins by Professor Thalindor Elthain

  Goblins, for all their chaotic and crude ways, possess an uncanny knack for stumbling upon the secrets of nature’s alchemy. Their discovery and use of boompowder is a prime example—a blend of accidental ingenuity and reckless curiosity that leaves them perpetually teetering on the edge of annihilation.

  The process by which goblins produce the powder is entirely natural if not grotesquely so, and deeply intertwined with their subterranean environment. Goblin warrens are often carved into sulfur-rich mountains or volcanic caverns, places where the air reeks of brimstone and the soil oozes with mineral deposits. In such locations, the goblins unwittingly become walking repositories of volatile compounds.

  Their skin, perpetually slick with sweat and grime, absorbs sulfur from their environment. Over time, the sulfur combines with potassium nitrate, which the goblins unknowingly collect from the guano of the massive cave bats they herd and feed upon. These bats, a staple of goblin diets, roost in the highest caverns, their droppings accumulating in great heaps at the feet of goblin warrens. Goblins tread through this filth daily, carrying it back to their bodies, where it mixes with the sulfur already embedded in their skin.It so happens that in the absence of these bats, goblins will search out other creatures to provide the needed compounds. It is unclear if this is due to a biological necessity, or if it is just a learned trait.

  The final ingredient—charcoal—comes from the goblins' constant fires. Their crude forges and ceaseless need for warmth lead to the burning of any available wood, much of which becomes ash that settles in their hair, clothes, and crevices. Unbeknownst to the goblins, this trio of components—sulfur, potassium nitrate, and charcoal—combines directly on their bodies, creating a thin but potent coating of powder on their skin.

  This bizarre natural occurrence makes goblins both deadly and absurdly vulnerable. The slightest spark, an errant flame, or even friction from their own erratic movements can ignite the powder dusting their bodies. Such incidents are a common cause of death within goblin communities, leading to the explosive demise of not only the unfortunate individual but often several others nearby.

  Despite the danger, the goblins seem blissfully unaware of the peril they carry. If anything, they revel in their volatile nature, viewing the occasional explosion as a sign of divine favor or a particularly entertaining accident. Their shamans, covered in even thicker layers of powder, are seen as the most "blessed" among them, often trailing clouds of sparks as they perform rituals involving fire and flame.

  While goblins seem unaware of this strange trait, other creatures such as orcs and lizardfolk are keenly aware of this peculiarity and use it aggressively, sending goblins into their foes in suicidal waves to great effect.

  Cheese could feel it—a deep, primal dread clawing at the edges of his mind. The kind of dread that came not from what was seen but from what was felt. A flicker of fire traced the sky, an arrow ablaze, descending in a slow arc toward the fortress. His instincts screamed at him to move, but before he could, his gaze was drawn upward.

  More fire. More arrows.

  They soared over the walls like a fiery swarm, each trailing a line of death. Cheese's mind raced. Logically, these arrows should pose no threat. They would strike the courtyard, far behind the safety of the walls. But logic gave no comfort, not against the gnawing unease that gripped his chest.

  Something was wrong. Deeply, profoundly wrong. Cheese look to his right and linked eyes with Torv who had a look of concern on his face. He opened his mouth to speak.

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  Then, before the bannerman could say a word the first arrow hit. It buried itself into the soft ground. There was an instant—a fraction of a second—where nothing happened. Then, it began in a popping wave. The sound was loud enough that Torvs words were cut off.

  White-hot light erupted, devouring the world in an instant. The fortress trembled as an ear-splitting roar tore through the air. Cheese staggered, his vision seared, his ears ringing as the shockwave slammed into him like a tidal wave. The acrid stench of sulfur filled his nose, and the heat of the explosion washed over him like a furnace. Torv was thrown away, as were the men around them. Unable to stand the blast men were sent flying as they screamed.

  In that moment, he understood.

  The goblins—their bodies, their very existence—had been laced with death. Each corpse outside the walls, each mangled heap of greenskin flesh, was a powder keg waiting to be set alight. The fire didn’t just burn; it consumed, detonating everything it touched.

  Another arrow struck, and then another. Each one brought fresh devastation, the explosions cascading through the air like a symphony of destruction. Cheese hit the ground, his arms shielding his head as debris rained down, the fortress walls groaning under the relentless assault. A stone hit the bladesman, and hit arms snapped away, broken like tiny twigs in a storm.

  This wasn’t war. It was annihilation.

  And in the chaos, Cheese felt it again—that deep, visceral dread. The sensation that this was only the beginning.

  A body slammed into Cheese, knocking him off his feet. The bladesman barely registered the screaming before another explosion ripped through the air, this one louder, deeper, more violent. He whipped his head toward the source just in time to see a flaming arrow plunge into another bloated pile of goblin corpses.

  The detonation was deafening. With a sickening pop, Cheese felt his eardrums rupture. The world around him became eerily muted, the roar of explosions replaced by a hollow ringing. A searing wave of heat followed, and then the sick, wet sensation of something tearing—flesh, bone, maybe both—as he was flung through the air like a ragdoll. His body slammed into the castle wall with a bone-jarring thud. INstinctually the bladesman ducked, right as a small sword flew where his neck had been. As he watched the blade continued its arc and took the head off of Gelrock. The master at arms, a man so strong and stalwart had been standing behind the Badesman, yet as his head fell away the warrior's body was thrown into the sky.

  Dazed, reeling, Cheese tried to rise, but the relentless chaos pinned him down. The explosions were everywhere now, each one closer, louder, more violent than the last. The inferno spread outward in a horrifying chain reaction, leaping from one grotesque mound of corpses to the next. Each detonation sent fresh shockwaves tearing through the fortress, tossing debris, flames, and bodies in every direction. The ground shuddered, and a section of wall fell away behind Cheese.

  The air was thick with ash and smoke, choking and blinding. Cheese struggled to breathe, to think, as the world became a whirlwind of flame and ruin. The ground beneath him continued to move with every blast, each one stronger than the one before. He clung to consciousness, his instincts screaming at him to move, to survive—but there was no escape. he was surrounded by the dead and dying.

  Then, it happened.

  A final arrow struck the largest pile of goblin dead that stood near the gatehouse only a few meters away to the west—a grotesque mountain of bloated flesh and volatile residue that had been smoldering ominously. For a heartbeat, the world seemed to hold its breath.

  And then it erupted.

  The explosion was stronger than even the blast that had destroyed Fairhaven. A brilliant flash of light consumed the fortress, so intense that it burned through his closed eyelids. The roar of the blast was beyond sound—beyond anything his ruined ears could register. The ground bucked violently, cracking and heaving as the shockwave tore through the air like the wrath of a god.

  Cheese was thrown once more, weightless, spinning, helpless against the force. He felt the heat scorch his skin, the pressure crush the air from his lungs. Time seemed to slow as he tumbled through the chaos, the world around him reduced to fire, smoke, and blinding light.

  Then after to many moments, he hit something. Slamming into it hard as his body was broken and his arms snapped together. A spear of pain struck through his side, and he skipped once, twice, and a third time. Finally, he came to a skidding stop, and his mouth filled with sand.

  And then, mercifully, the darkness took him.